


Hopeful Monster

by monster_of_hope (stewardess)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, M/M, Pre-Slash, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-03
Updated: 2007-03-02
Packaged: 2017-10-07 00:30:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stewardess/pseuds/monster_of_hope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys go hunting in Idaho. Dean accepts his destiny. Set after 2x14.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [morgandawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgandawn/gifts).



When Sam yelled something in his sleep, Dean instantly woke up and thumbed the safety off the .45 under his pillow.

"Sam!"

Sam jerked awake. "It's nothing. Just a bad dream. Go back to sleep, Dean."

_Just_ a dream? Dean switched on a table lamp, revealing the cheap South Dakota motel room. Bobby had told them to get out of town last night, but they had been too wasted.

"Anything I need to know about?" Dean asked. Meaning anything about the demon.

Sam was on his back on the double bed farthest from the door. He covered his eyes with one hand. "Turn the light off."

Dean did.

"Maybe. I didn't see him, but he was there," Sam said, _he_ meaning the demon.

Dean thumbed the safety back on. Sometimes Sam's premonitions didn't give them much warning. This didn't seem like one, though; Sam wasn't clutching his head.

"I was cooped up." Sam still covered his eyes.

"You mean like at the Benders?"

"No, not a cage. More like a pen. Max and Andy were in it with me. And Ava."

Oh, yeah. It was a nightmare, all right.

"There were others, men and women I didn't know." Sam was talking fast, getting the horror out of his head. "But we all knew–"

"Out with it," Dean said. No more God damn secrets.

"We were cattle," Sam said.

Cattle. A slaughterhouse? It didn't make sense. The demon didn't want Sammy or any of the others dead.

Sam got out of bed and went to the bathroom, turning on the shower. It was old, made out of painted metal. It boomed and rattled like a thunderstorm under the spray.

Dean checked the time on a boxy clock radio. Five thirty. Son of a bitch. Might as well hit the road.

* * *

Ellen warned them the case wasn't much.

Ash had just started his research when Sam downloaded the files. They could have learned more if they had gone to the roadhouse, but it wasn't a good time to be hanging around known associates.

All they had was: Two young people had gone missing in Spirit Lake, Idaho.

According to the single newspaper article Ash had found, locals had vanished for years. The paper hinted an abandoned silver mine was to blame; when kids partied in it, sometimes they didn't come back. If it was another wendigo… Christ, that had just been _disgusting_.

It was weak, but Dean still liked it, as cases went. He wanted Sam in a small town out in the boonies, where everyone was in each other's business. No hunters could sneak up on them in a place like that. No feds, either.

But as they approached Spirit Lake, population 1,576 minus two, Dean knew the locals would suck—narrow-minded, suspicious—because: the prettier the town, the uglier the people.

Spirit Lake was as perfect as a train set. Forested mountains on one side, clear blue lake on the other. Modern log homes with lots of glass, gleaming SUVs parked in front of three car garages. No trailer parks. No trailer trash, either.

The town's main street was Maine, with an E. Classy! Although the curbs were lined bumper to bumper with parked cars and trucks, there were only a few pedestrians, explained by a large banner advertising speedboat races on the lake. Stroke of luck. With tourists in town, he and Sam would stand out less. Unfortunately, so would hunters.

Cruising at 30 mph, they were through the town in two minutes, three tops. Their motel was half a mile more down the two lane highway.

The motel clerk scrutinized the credit card Dean handed over for so long he nearly booked out of there. Finally the clerk gave up two plastic keycards.

Dean tossed a bag onto the queen bed closest to the door, putting himself between whatever was out there and Sam. "Shit, this is nice."

The room had been done over recently, in an inevitable mountain lodge theme, but the wood paneling on the walls was real, the beds were firm, and there was a mini fridge under a double vanity sink counter. A picture window faced Spirit Lake.

Sam sat on his bed and turned on his laptop. "There's wireless, I think from the junior high school we passed, but the signal's weak."

"I'm sure you'll figure something out." There was a time Dean would have tacked on _college boy_.

They drove back into town and ate a late lunch at a greasy spoon with pretensions of grandeur, the kind of place that slapped blue cheese on something and called it gourmet. A silent waitress brought them their order of burgers and fries. For ten minutes, they were too busy chewing and swallowing to talk.

"Let's start digging in Spokane," Sam said. "Resources here look kind of limited."

"Non-existent, you mean." Dean held up his empty coffee cup and looked for the waitress, but she had disappeared into the back. No refills.

Sam followed the direction of his gaze.

"Guess we're not white enough," Dean said sarcastically. According to Ash's info, the town was ninety-five percent Caucasian, extreme even for Idaho.

Sam grinned, tired, but still up for giving him shit. "I don't think that's it. Leather jacket. Jeans that actually fit. Non-Flowbee haircut. In this town, you qualify as raging."

It was funny the first dozen times he and Sammy were mistaken for a couple. No, that wasn't true. It had never been funny.

What grated on his nerves was that the whispered insults were always directed at him. Dean was the big bad queer leading the innocent astray, while Sam had a get out of gay free card or something.

"Damn puppy dog look," Dean said.

Sam gave him the _What I'd do?_ expression, proving his point.

When they stepped outside, a sound like angry mechanical hornets came from the lake. The races had begun.

* * *

Spokane, forty miles away, population only two hundred thousand, felt like a major metropolis after Spirit Lake. They went through back issues of newspapers at a library, then found a coffeehouse with free wireless.

Sam broke out the laptop to continue researching Spirit Lake's past. Dean looked over Dad's journal, but they didn't have enough to go on for it to be useful yet.

He ordered black coffee, Sam a triple mocha with extra chocolate syrup.

While Sam was engrossed, Dean stole looks at him. It was the only time Dean could get away with it. Any show of concern freaked Sam out, made him defensive almost to the point of paranoia. And a freaked out Sam was so not what they needed right now. They were barely making it with Dad gone, the hunter community about to do God knew what when they learned about Gordon and Wandell, plus the feds thinking they were Bonnie and Clyde. Christ, what _else_ could go wrong?

He flipped open his notebook. It was a relief to focus on the two missing kids. Lauren Fisher, 19. Brittany Newhall, 21. Unrelated to each other. Both born in Spirit Lake. Last seen late afternoon Saturday two weeks earlier.

Brittany worked at a Wal-Mart in Post Falls. Posing as co-workers would give them an opening to family and friends. Even better, Lauren was a freshman at Reed College in Portland. All sorts of possibilities there, with less chance of blowing their cover.

"We need Lauren's class schedule," Dean said. "Did she work? Does Reed have co-ed dorms?"

"Biology major, no job, family paying for everything, volunteered ten hours a week at an animal shelter. Shared an apartment with two other girls."

_That's my boy._ "All right, Mr. Peabody. Did she have a boyfriend, or was she too busy saving kittens?"

"You're welcome, Sherman. Probably no boyfriend. The two girls she lives with belong to Reed's GLBT group."

"What's that, a fucking sandwich?"

Sam grinned. "Gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender."

Crap. If Lauren was gay, that narrowed their options. They'd have to pose as animal lovers, at least to Lauren's roommates. Nix on the leather jacket. Nix on burger breath.

In Spirit Lake, though, they could get away with Sammy pretending to be a college boyfriend. Lauren wouldn't have come out in her hometown. No way.

"How'd you find all that out, Sam? You're sure it's kosher?"

"I looked up Reed College on livejournal. Lucked out. Lauren's user name is spirit underscore lake. This is her roommate Jamie's blog."

Sam turned the laptop to face him. Dean nearly went blind. Pink text on purple? Fuck that shit.

"What else have we got?" Dean asked. Meaning _What's weird?_

"Everyone seems to take it for granted the silver mine is responsible, but we didn't find any hard evidence, like missing persons turning up dead there. So why blame the mine?"

Good question. "You have the police report?"

Sam turned the laptop around. "Sheriff's, yeah. Divers checked out the lake, volunteers searched the mine and the woods. They didn't find anything, not even a backpack."

"Ash had better come up with something more." Dean was getting a creepy feeling.

There had been six disappearances in the past hundred years, the last in 1987, a girl and a boy, high school juniors. Vanishing young people. Perfect little town. He'd seen it before.

Sam's gaze flickered over his laptop screen. "We might have vengeful spirits to deal with here. Lots of accidents in the mine before it was shut down."

"Yeah, saw that in the papers. Biggest one was in 1885. Nearly a hundred miners died in an explosion."

"It might not have been an accident. There was a strike going on."

"Strike? But then no one would have been down in the mine, Sammy."

"The union was occupying it, jerk."

"Huh. So the miners' families thought the mining company blew it up?"

"Yeah. And the company said the miners blew themselves up. Now this is weird. The first time kids went missing wasn't until–"

Dean went around the table, stood behind Sam, reached over his shoulders, and typed on his keyboard. "Nineteen-oh-seven. No mystery there. After the mine closed down, the town was deserted for a while, until a logging company moved in."

"Better have Ash do his stuff on missing persons going back to 1885. Just in case. And ask him to get more on that explosion."

"Sam, did you see this?"

Sam turned to look up at him.

Dean tapped the screen. "A couple miners survived the explosion. Check it out."

"They saw… they saw a woman on fire." Sam swallowed.

Dean hurried to reassure him. "A _giant_ woman _made_ out of fire. Sounds demon-related, but it can't be. A demon wouldn't hang out in an abandoned mine. That's some slim pickings."

"Maybe a troll?" Sam opened Dad's journal.

Dean sat back down and finished his coffee. "Never heard of one like this. I'm leaning towards pagan god. Think about it. The town's fucking perfect, except for the disappearing people."

"Human sacrifice?" Sam looked freaked out, probably remembering Dean's encounter with the scarecrow god.

A lot of wild shit had happened since then, but, tied up in that orchard, Dean had never been so sure he was going to check out for good. Sammy had left him, was why. He _would_ have bought it, if Sammy hadn't stolen a car and come back.

Sam sent what they had so far to Ash. They found a Wal-Mart and stocked up on rock salt, ammo, Dove bars, Mountain Dew, Fritos, and Valvoline 10W40, then drove back to Spirit Lake.

It was time for a different kind of research, up close and personal.

* * *

After the speedboat races, tourists were all over town. The _Linger Longer Lounge_ served food and had the biggest crowd, so they went in.

Dean thought they'd have to settle for Coors, but there were eight beers on tap, most of them brands he'd never heard of. He'd forgotten; Idaho's blue laws regulated the hell out of hard liquor, so beer was easier to deal with.

He ordered two pints of Laughing Dog and handed one to Sam, who stayed at the bar and ate a bowl of chili while Dean stood by the lone pool table, waiting for a turn. After forty-five minutes, fed up with the slow, deliberate players, he went to the bar to get another beer.

Sam, still sitting at the bar, was talking to a woman, which normally would have made Dean break out the champagne, but this one was a senior citizen. Pink velour tracksuit, white-blond hair lacquered into a helmet. Forty years ago, she had been a babe, judging from the blond girl sitting next to her. Granddaughter? Dean stood by Sam and grandma until they noticed him.

"Hi," Dean said to grandma. He held out his hand. "Name's Dean. You live around here?"

"Born and bred." The woman shook his hand. She wore boring, expensive rings, the kind sold in upscale malls.

"Dean, this is Mrs. Nolan." Sam looked at the girl. "Nicole, this is my brother."

Dean smiled briefly at Nicole, then returned to making friends with grandma. The way to a girl's heart and into her pants in a town like this was through respecting his elders.

"Your brother told me you two knew the Fisher girl at Reed," Mrs. Nolan said.

"Yes, ma'am." Oops. She didn't like _ma'am_. Made her feel old, probably. "Nicole's your daughter?"

"My great grand-daughter." Mrs. Nolan smiled, not minding the obvious flattery.

When Nicole limply shook his hand and barely met his eyes, Dean wrote her off. _Virgin._

"Do you know Lauren?" Dean asked, being careful about present tense.

"I know Brittany. She sat in front of me in homeroom in junior high."

It figured. Newhall. Nolan. That fucking alphabetical shit always put Winchester last.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. Dean turned too fast and nearly knocked the man's beer out of his hand. For a second, he thought it would escalate into a fight, but the man pointed at the pool table.

"You're up."

Twenty minutes later, Dean was cleaning up nicely when he saw the virgin standing a few feet away. She smiled at him.

Maybe Nicole was more experienced than he thought. Or maybe she wanted to be. He couldn't fault her for having good taste. And she was better-than-average pretty. But what really stood out was her gravity-defying body.

He looked back at the bar, where Sammy was having a conversation with great-grandma, and changed his mind. He'd pass on Nicole. She was more Sammy's type, anyway, a big-eyed blond. Besides, if he didn't get Sammy laid soon, he'd have to start slipping him happy pills.

While his next challenger went through the ritual of selecting a cue and chalking the tip, Dean stood close to Nicole. He considered asking her about local legends regarding the mine, but decided to save it for later. "So what else happens in this town, besides speedboat races?"

"You mean like the mower race?"

"A what race?"

"The riding mower race down Maine Street."

Good God. She was serious. "Nicole, can I ask you for a favor?"

"Sure. Anything."

She was trusting as hell. He couldn't help comparing her to Jo.

"It's really for my brother over there." Dean handed her two twenties. "Buy him shots. Jim Beam. Keep them coming." _And make out with him._

She finally looked suspicious. About time. "Why?"

"He was going out with Lauren."

"Oh, no! I'm so sorry."

"He's been a mess since hearing the news. Hasn't slept for days. Blames himself for what happened. No matter what I tell him–" Too close to the truth. "If I buy him drinks, he'll tell me to get fu– stuffed. He won't be able to resist you, darling. I just want him to get some sleep tonight. Please?"

She stuffed the money in a front pocket, a struggle since her jeans were skintight, and returned to the bar, where she sat next to Sam, sandwiching him between her and great-grandma. Good girl.

Dean kept his eye on things while playing four more games. It was a risk, getting Sammy drunk. Sam had been a handful and a half the last time.

At midnight, when Sam had put down three double shots, plenty for him, Dean grabbed his winnings from the light fixture over the pool table and went to collect Sammy.

Sam was still talking to Mrs. Nolan, not Nicole. The boy was hopeless.

"If evolution is true, then why haven't they ever found bird fossils with half a wing?" Mrs. Nolan was saying.

God damn. Great-grandma was doing shots, too.

"There are very few transitional forms." Drunk or not, Sam sounded like he could go on for hours.

"Ha! Got you this time, Sam."

"Susan, listen, evolution isn't always gradual. I already explained macroevolution to you–"

"Hopeful monsters, right, I heard you. With half an eyeball!"

"Okay, maybe half, but a half that _does_ something. There are leaps, then long periods of stability. That's why the fossil record–"

"But they found Noah's Ark! Try to explain that!"

Sam smiled and shook his head. He was a happy drunk this time. "I can't, Susan."

Nicole helped him walk Sammy to the Impala. The air outside smelled like pines and deep water, a relief after the smoky bar.

Dean looked on the bright side: he hadn't succeeded in hooking Sam up with Nicole, but at least his brother was relaxed. With any luck, Sam would sleep nightmare-free.

Except two men stood between them and the Impala, _You strangers better not be messing with our women_ on their faces. They were around forty, overweight, football players gone to seed.

Too bad, because Dean had almost started to not hate this town. A riding mower race sounded kind of cool, actually.

"You going somewhere, little lady?" Dickhead number one.

"No." Since Nicole had Sam's arm across her shoulders, and one arm around his waist, they weren't buying it.

"Nicole, you know these dudes?" Dean said.

"They work for my dad."

"Go on back inside, Nicole," Dean said. "Thanks. Really. I owe you."

The men were wearing denim overalls and camo hunting caps. Dean tried to look at them and not see the Benders. When Nicole reached the door of the bar, he faced the men and smiled his _I love everyone_ smile.

"Oh, fuck," Sam said. "Dean–"

"Hey, we're cool," Dean said. "No problem. Right, gentlemen?"

"Yeah, if you're leaving," said dickhead number two.

"That's just what we're doing. Leaving. You and Jed here can get on back to, whatever, daily proving the myth of the female orgasm–"

"Deeeeeean." Sam was drunk enough and tired enough to whine.

The men moved a few feet away, convincing Dean they weren't going to do anything stupid. He loaded Sam into the Impala, started her up with a _My dick is bigger than yours_ roar, and drove the half mile to the motel.

After pushing and tugging Sam into their room, he let Sam topple onto a bed, then he removed Sam's shoes, socks, jeans, jacket, and flannel shirt. That left Sam in boxers and a long-sleeved thermal shirt with a T-shirt over it. The boy wore too many clothes.

Sam's left arm hung off the side of the bed. He lifted it and folded it over Sam's chest. Taking care of Sammy made Dean feel calm, in control of things, like the old days.

They had really lucked out with this motel. When he sat on the edge of Sam's mattress, it didn't even dip.

"Good?" Dean asked.

"Awesome." Sam was still happy. "Hey, Dean? Nicole, the Jim Beam. You are so obvious, dude."

"Fat lot of good it did. I guess great-grandma is more your type." He smiled the way that always pissed Sam off. Kind of a gloating smirk, he'd discovered, when he'd checked it once in a mirror.

Sam punched him. No more happy.

Dean didn't bother to block it; it wasn't going to hurt. And it didn't. Sam's fist remained on Dean's chest, as if Sam had already forgotten he was angry.

"Dean, you think sex is like… chicken soup!"

And that was a problem? "Well, yeah. It's good for you."

Aw, hell. Sam started up with the big dramatic gestures, grabbing the front of Dean's shirt and yanking him down.

It was like wrestling giant starfish, getting Sammy's hands off him. "Seriously, it doesn't have to mean anything every damn time. It can be _fun_." Dean smiled, illustrating the apparently alien concept of fun.

"You're oblivious," Sam said. He had to say it slow, each syllable careful and distinct.

There was an insult there Dean wasn't getting. "Oblivious can be good for you, too."

Sam closed his eyes for a moment. Hallelujah. He was getting sleepy. "Don't worry about me. I remember what you said. _It takes two to have hardcore sex._"

"No way. I wouldn't say something that stupid. Besides, it takes at least three." Dean winked, stood up, and stripped down to T-shirt and briefs.

"Oh, really. I thought it was damned insightful," Sam said, an edge back in his voice.

Dean didn't get Sam's strange expression, so he resorted to the obvious. "You're drunk."

_BOOM._

The room shook and somehow _roared_, as if an eighteen wheeler had smashed into the building.

Adrenaline hit Dean so hard he leapt across the room, over his bed, ending up at the door. "Shit! Fuck! What the fuck!"

Then everything went dead quiet. All he could hear was Sam laughing his ass off.

Dean collapsed on his bed. "Hey, shut up, bitch. Some of us weren't living in Cali and getting used to this shit."

"That was a nothing quake, maybe a five." Sam was still laughing. "If you ever go through a real one, you're going to need new pants."

"That was totally fucked up, man."

"It _was_ close," Sam said, sounding almost sober.

"Thanks, Seismic Boy. That makes me feel so much better."

Sam started laughing again. "The safest place to be during an earthquake? On a plane."

Dean lay awake for more than an hour, Sammy's gentle snoring failing to lull him to sleep. He should have drunk more, or watched a movie. Fucking quake had him hyped.

He blamed it later for his nightmare: Sammy and Ava in a pen together. When Ava turned around, he could see she was pregnant. But that wasn't the worst part. That happened when Sam said, "Now you know why Jess died."

* * *

They went out to breakfast at the same greasy spoon. Dean ate corned beef hash with fried eggs on top. Sam, who had an annoyingly mild hangover, polished off a pile of chocolate chip pancakes topped with chocolate syrup.

When they returned to the motel, Sam checked the Internet connection. It was up, and there was an email from Ash.

"Damn. That 1885 explosion? Guess how many bodies they found," Sam said.

"No idea." Dean had remembered his dream during the meal, and it was still freaking him out. It had been different from his usual nightmares: running as slow as molasses while something tried to kill Sam.

"Nada," Sam said.

"Christ. Okay. That's just weird." Dean rubbed his face, then his hair. "I don't know what the hell is going on."

"It's not the demon. Ash isn't seeing any weather anomalies," Sam said. "But he thinks there might be something strange going on with earthquakes."

"No shit."

"He did find some stuff on a lady haunting the mine."

"And?"

"And he'll get back to us. Also, Lauren Fisher is a descendent of the mine owners, so it's a maybe on the vengeful spirits theory. Hey. Cool. He sent us surveyor maps."

"Time to check out the mine, then."

While Sam distracted the clerk with questions about the best local fishing spots, Dean broke into the office and printed the maps. He quickly checked the Impala to make sure it was stocked with Dove bars, Mountain Dew, and bottled water. Everything else they needed—flashlights, spare batteries, knives, shotguns, salt, EMF meter—was already in the trunk.

He returned to the motel room to find Sam stripped naked, about to put on long underwear. When Sam pulled the thermal pants up, the waistband slid down below his hip bones. Dean resolved to buy Sam more chocolate chip pancakes.

"What are _you_ looking at?" Sam said.

"Nothing, dude."

"Then how about some fucking space?" Sam gave him the strange look again.

_Awkward_. Dean went outside to call Nicole on his cell phone. He might have no designs on her, but getting her number last night had been a reflex.

He left a voicemail message. She called back immediately.

"Nicole, you know anything about the mine? Ever been there?"

"Once, when I was in high school. I didn't go in, though."

"Why does everybody assume that's where Lauren and Brittany went?"

"Because. That's what always happens. People go in and they don't come out."

"So you've heard about a lady ghost in the mine?"

"Yeah. Everybody has." Nicole's voice shrank.

Her fear sounded personal. "Anyone you know claimed to have seen her?"

She told him the story. Her great uncle and a friend had gone down into the mine, right after WWII, when the two men were in their early twenties. They saw a tall woman made out of fire, but she didn't attack them; she didn't even seem to notice they were there. They got the hell out, and her great uncle didn't tell anyone about it until 1987, when two teenagers disappeared.

"I know about them," Dean said. "Thanks. I'm not going to tell Sam about this. I don't want him thinking that Lauren–"

Nicole squeaked in sympathetic distress.

After hanging up, Dean called the roadhouse and left a message with Ellen for Ash. When he went back inside the motel room, Sam looked ready to go.

"Had to make a couple of calls, Sam. Sorry."

Why was he apologizing? He wasn't the one with his panties in a twist. But what the hell. It put Sam back in a good mood.

"You know what we need? Some rope," Sam said.

Dean cracked up. "All right. Get your stupid fucking rope."

* * *

The mine was three miles from town, at the base of a low mountain. A fire access road took them within a quarter mile, then they hiked the rest of the way. The ground was uneven—mine tailings, probably—and overgrown with pines.

"There it is," Sam said.

The entrance was boarded over; someone had even poured a bunch of concrete. It hadn't stopped the kids. There was an opening as big as a door to a supermarket. Slinging bags over their shoulders, they took out flashlights, the EMF meter, and the infrared scanner.

They nearly fell on their asses, feet sliding on gravel. Once they were in, the shaft was wide and straight, with a high ceiling, at least ten feet. The ground was rocky, but nearly level.

Not bad. Dean had been expecting something as rank as the Roosevelt Asylum.

Sam unfolded a map. Dean held a flashlight on it for him.

"This is the main shaft. There are a couple of smaller ones coming off it, but we might as well follow this one to the end first."

"Unless something comes up along the way," Dean said. "How far is it?"

"Over a mile." Sam turned on the infrared scanner.

"Fuck! I should have put on long underwear."

"As if."

"What?"

"As if you could wear anything else under those jeans."

"Are you saying I'm getting fat?"

"I'm just saying—dude, those pants are tight."

"Gets the chicks." Dean smiled, thinking about chicks. Okay, maybe he leered a little.

Sam smiled back. "Overcompensate much?"

Dean let it go. They needed to stop talking and pay attention. Walking slowly, he swung his flashlight to illuminate every surface, including overhead. The shaft gradually rose and fell, so they couldn't see ahead more than a hundred feet.

Sam used the infrared scanner to check for cold spots, which seemed redundant down here. It was a damn ice box.

They'd covered a quarter mile when Sam spoke.

"You ever think about what happened to the Neanderthals?"

Dean nearly tripped. "Whoa. Were the fuck did that come from?"

"I don't know. Yeah, I do. The rock walls. Made me think about the Lascaux cave paintings."

"That's the place in France, right? What the fuck does it have to do with Neanderthals?"

"Nothing. The paintings were made by _Homo sapiens_. It was just when both species existed at the same time. But the Neanderthals were about to die out."

"Huh."

"There's a lot of speculation about what wiped them out, but mostly climate changes, ice age bullshit, gets blamed. It's like people believe they just gave up or something."

"Yeah, it blows."

Dean hoped there was some Mountain Dew left. He hoped the credit card he'd used for their motel room would be good for a few more days. He hoped Sam talking about Neanderthals didn't mean a return to Sammy's _There are no ghosts, there is only unexplained phenomena_ phase. Even though Dean kind of agreed with it these days.

It had happened the first time around when Sammy was eleven. Sam read _Natural History_, _Scientific American_, and _National Geographic_ whenever Dean stole them, along with _Popular Mechanics_ and _Penthouse_ for himself. Stephen Hawking was Sammy's only God back then.

Dad hadn't worried about it at first. Told Dean not to, either. But that was before the incident with the rock salt.

Dean had no trouble remembering it. It was the first time he'd helped Dad track down the spirit of a psycho killer. They'd confronted the ghost and let loose with the shotguns. And… nothing. It kept on coming. They had barely escaped in time to salt and burn the bones.

When they arrived at the motel, Sam looked unusually happy to see them. Dad opened up a shotgun cartridge and touched it to his tongue. Dean did the same. Sweet. The rock salt had been replaced with sugar crystals.

"Why'd you do it?" Dad asked Sam.

"Did it work?" Sam asked.

"No," Dean said, completely pissed. A look from Dad shut him up.

"So it really is the rock salt that repels spirits," Sam said, like they should be impressed by his experiment.

Later, Dad pulled Dean aside. "Accepting that evil is real comes hard for Sammy."

Dean hadn't known then what Dad had meant. He hadn't cared, either.

Now he knew it was even harder to accept good.

Over the years, he'd taken Sam's doubts and absorbed them. He didn't believe in anything he couldn't see. Demi-gods, creatures, beasts: the only thing that mattered was knowing how to kill them. Shit had to have _rules_.

Down in the mine, which wasn't the least bit scary, every rule Dean knew told him the place wasn't haunted. Hell, even Winnie the damn Pooh would have loved it down here. There was zero trash around, which was strange if teenagers came to get wasted.

Maybe everything they'd heard was bullshit. Maybe kids didn't go into the mine, but partied in the surrounding woods or something. They'd have to check it out when they left.

"We should be coming up to the shaft that branches off," Sam said. "Do you see it?"

When they reached it, the EMF meter went crazy for a moment. It was probably something totally boring, like forgotten underground cables that were still juiced up.

"I'm game," Dean said. He wanted to yawn.

They turned left into the secondary shaft. After covering an eighth of a mile, Sam halted and grabbed his arm.

"This doesn't look man-made," Sam said. "See how it's round, not square? I think it's a lava tube."

"Don't tell me shit like that," Dean said. "Anyway, whatever it is, it's getting fucking narrow. Let's head back, man. We still have to check out the rest of the main shaft."

Sam stood still, looking stubborn.

"What is it?" Dean said.

"I don't know," Sam said. "Nothing, I guess."

They reached the main shaft without incident, made it all the way to the end, and found not a damn thing. The place was clean.

* * *

Dean woke with a headache. Some dick was using a leaf blower in the parking lot.

He ran through his morning checklist. _Car: running. Dad: gone._ He sat up and looked at his brother. _Sammy: safe._

Sammy slowly got out of bed, staggered a little, and rummaged through a backpack. "Any Advil?"

"On the rag again?"

"Seriously, man. My head fucking hurts."

Dean found the ibuprofen, gave Sammy three, swallowed three himself.

After they showered, they drove to Spokane again. Now they had something specific to research: giant flaming women.


	2. Chapter 2

The journey was a complete waste; Spokane's libraries were closed on Mondays. At the coffeehouse, Sam emailed Ash about their lack of results. It was getting to be a routine.

"Well, here's something," Sam said. "Lauren's roommates got back to me."

"The purple chicks are talking to you?"

"Emailing me, yeah. I told them I'm a Stanford student who grew up with Lauren. Turns out Brittany _is_ Lauren's girlfriend."

Dean whistled. "That must suck, being queer in Spirit Lake."

"You should know," Sam said.

Dean threw a handful of empty creamer containers at him.

"Ass." Sam wiped the laptop screen with a napkin. "Oh, crap."

"What?"

"Lauren's roommates, Jamie and Kelly—they're a couple, did I tell you that?—think the girls were killed in a hate crime. "

Dean shrugged. "Maybe they were."

"You don't get it. Jamie and Kelly want to go to Spirit Lake and find out what happened."

"Aw, shit." God save them from amateurs. "When are we talking to Lauren's and Brittany's families?"

"You really want to?" Sam's expression and voice turned all soft and gentle, which was annoying as hell.

But Sam had a point. Talk to another busted-up family? No, thanks.

"The roommates probably know more, anyway," Dean said.

"Exactly. Hey. Finally. Ash just sent us something."

"What's he got?"

"Give me a minute."

Dean stood behind Sammy's chair. "What the hell is taking so long?"

"Ash changed the encryption key. Again. He changes it every day. Or whenever he gets paranoid. Which is like every thirty minutes." Sam was so cranky it was funny.

"Okay, fine." Dean leaned over Sam, resting his hands on the chair's arms, and waited for Sam to get the file open.

"Would you quit breathing down my neck?" Sam said.

Dean blew hard, ruffling Sam's hair. He laughed when Sam twitched.

"Jerk," Sam said. "Damn, should have thought of this. Ash thinks she's a volcanic goddess, like Pele in Hawaii, or Iztaccíhuatl in Mexico."

"Izzy what?"

Oh, yeah. This was their girl. Violent temper. Materialized all in flame when she was extra pissed off.

No wonder the mine was so effing clean. No wonder people just vanished. She was a walking trash incinerator and crematorium.

"Interesting," Sam said. "Pele is a classic triple goddess. She's either a beautiful maiden, or an old crone–"

"Dude!" Something clicked in Dean's memory. "Isn't there a volcano in Mexico called Popo something?"

"Popocatépetl?" Sam googled it.

"There. It says Popo-whatever was the warrior Izzy loved, but her dad wouldn't let her marry him. And Pele–"

"Tried to get her sister's husband, and didn't," Sam said. "So?"

"Izzy was turned into a mountain by her dad. Name of the mountain translates to White Woman."

"You're saying she's a woman in white?" Sam looked at him with his mouth open.

Dean gloated. "_And_ a volcanic goddess. Her M.O. is different. Maybe going after lovers?"

"Sure, that makes sense. She was unlucky in love– Oh, fuck. Lauren and Brittany."

"Hold on. There's a problem. No volcano."

"This whole area is a volcano, Dean. The earthquakes–"

"I said not to tell me that shit. So how are we going to kill this balrog bitch?"

Sam looked offended. "Her name is Iztaccíhuatl."

"Like I can fucking say that."

"Whatever. According to this legend"—Sam poked the laptop screen—"Iztaccíhuatl died of grief."

"We have to kill an already dead– what the hell is she, anyway? Elemental? Spirit?"

"Don't know," Sam said. "Maybe a demi-god, like the Vanir. And if she draws her power from the _earth_– Jesus. This one's a challenge. I'll call Bobby."

Dean rubbed Sam's shoulder in agreement. Ash was a genius, but Bobby had experience.

Back at the motel, Sam stretched out on his bed with Dad's journal. Dean fetched a couple of duffels from the car and went to work.

"What the hell are you doing, Dean?"

"Something I should have done a long time ago. Bullet cocktail. Brass, consecrated iron, and silver. Unless you have another idea."

Sam made the sad puppy face. "I've got nothing. Dad never ran into something like this. Couldn't be many of them."

"Relax, man, we'll figure something out. Hey, are you sure this is Izzy we're dealing with? She's kind of far from home."

"I'm sure," Sam said in his _Don't ask how I know_ voice.

Dean didn't ask.

* * *

For dinner, they returned to the _Linger Longer Lounge_, ordering steak sandwiches, fries, and beer.

Dean would rather dance with a zombie than admit it, but hiking through the mine the day before had kicked his ass. His muscles ached, his head still throbbed. Maybe he was coming down with the flu.

He sat in a booth instead of on a bar stool. Sam sagged onto the upholstered bench opposite like he was wiped out, too.

While Sam ate with one hand, taking notes with the other, Dean scoped the place out, looking for old folks who might know a tale or two about Izzy. He also kept an eye open for good-looking chicks. But it was a Monday night without football. Only regulars were around, average age fifty, nearly all male.

He and Sam were almost finished eating when a guy in his late seventies sat down at their table. He wore a baseball cap decorated with dusty fishing flies, and held a bottle of Sharp. Dangerous character, obviously.

"I heard you boys were asking about our local bogeyman," the man said.

"Yes, sir!" Sam had his _you can trust me_ face on so fast it made Dean dizzy.

He and Sam were about done with their Laughing Dogs, so he stood up, offered to get their new friend another Sharp, and got the hell out of the way. Fishing hat man was falling for Sam like a bass went after raw hamburger.

When he returned with their beers, he sat down beside Sam, facing the old dude.

"Mr. Sperry told me something really interesting, Dean." Sam smiled, all innocent and sincere.

"Call me Lee." Lee accepted the fresh Sharp.

"Lee says the people who've gone missing in the mine over the years died from toxic gases," Sam said.

"That's right," Lee said. "I was telling Sheriff Nolan–"

"Any relation to Nicole Nolan?" Dean interrupted.

"Her father."

"Oh, fuck!" Dean said. "Sorry, Lee. I nearly went all Stephen Seagal on two deputies."

Sam grinned down at the table.

Dean hit him on the thigh without conviction, more of a thump. When Sam grinned all-out like that, Dean felt strange, because it made Sam look older, not younger. Dean could picture him at forty with that grin.

Lee said, "Well, as I was telling the sheriff, if you know anything about the geology of the region, you know nasty gases accompany volcanic activity."

"Aren't they released only during eruptions?" Sam asked, as if he didn't know the answer already.

"Typically, yes," Lee said. "But this area isn't typical. The Pacific Ocean floor has been diving down under the Cascades for thirty million years. That's a lot of melted crust, a lot of gas. It has to go somewhere."

Not the volcano shit again. Dean gulped down Laughing Dog.

"You're being a great help, Lee," Sam said. He and Lee beamed at each other.

Dean was through giving Lee a free ride on the love train. "Lee, how'd you know we were asking about Izzy?"

Sam squeezed his leg hard just above the knee, a fatally ticklish spot.

Double fuck. Probably shouldn't have mentioned their lady balrog's name.

"Who?" Lee said. "Sorry, I didn't hear that."

"The local bogeyman," Dean said, ignoring Sam. Which was like ignoring getting groped by a yeti.

"Oh, yes. Nicole Nolan told me. Susan Nolan and I are… We're an item." Lee might have blushed; his face was so red from decades of weather it was hard to tell. "Her Bill died ten years ago. We were all good friends–"

"Better keep an eye on your gal," Dean said. "My brother here–"

Sam took the hint and let go of his leg. "How did you figure out volcanic gases are responsible?"

"Simple logic. People disappeared in 1907, 1945, 1960, 1963, and 1987, plus the girls two weeks ago."

Dean nodded, thinking, _Shit. He's got the years right_. Next to him, Sam was nodding, too.

"There were good-sized earthquakes every time." Lee finished his non-alcoholic beer. "It's been a real pleasure talking to you, Sam. You, too, Dean." He made a stop at the men's room before leaving the bar.

"Well, damn," Dean said. "Lee just crushed my dream."

He grabbed a menu from the table next to them, sat opposite Sam, and checked the desserts. He wanted coffee, but he was pretty sure the pot behind the bar had been simmering for a couple of days.

"It's natural phenomena, Sam. I say we hit the road. The pie looks good."

Sam twisted the menu out of his hands.

"Hey! I was looking at that."

Sam flipped it over and handed it to him. On the back of the menu was a drawing of a scroll with cheesy Old Western style lettering.

_The Legend Of Spirit Lake_

Long ago beside the waters of this lake of crystal clearness  
Lived a tribe of peaceful Indians, few in number, very gentle  
Governed by a loving chieftain and his daughter Sewewanna.  
Fair was she, the fairest maiden of a tribe renowned for beauty.

Dean groaned. "No way."

"Hell, yes," Sam said, his eyes bright with the thrill of the hunt. "Her dad tried to force her to marry someone, so she and her lover drowned themselves in the lake."

_And the white moon high above them made a pathway on the water  
Made a path of shining silver leading out to the Great Spirit  
And the soft winds in the tree tops told them to walk out upon it  
That their vows might be unbroken, that their love might live forever._

Sam picked up another menu. "Girl doesn't get boy, dies tragically. It's almost identical to Izzy's story. Must have attracted her somehow."

_So ends the Indian legend that the mothers tell their children  
Of the days before the white man came to live beside the waters  
Of the crystal lake that nestles in the lap of tree-clad mountains  
How this lake once called Clear Water, came to be the Lake of Spirits._

Dean said, "It's a _menu_, dude. I still say we hit the road."

Sam gave him the big puppy eyes. Which worked every time, damn it. Screw the visions. _That_ was his brother's real superfreak power.

"You want the brownie sundae, or the blackberry pie?" Dean said.

"Both."

They were in the sack at 9 p.m. They were getting old.

* * *

Tuesday morning, Sam came out of the bathroom whining. "My head's killing me, the wireless is dead again, and I don't want to go to Spokane just to check our fricking email."

"Well, in that case… I have a T-Mobile card. Kind of legal." Dean pulled it out of his wallet.

Sam snatched it from him. "You jerk! How long have you had this?"

"Hey, don't bite my head off. It's only good for twenty-four hours. I was saving it for when you were being a total bitch."

Sam sent Lee's theories to Ash, then gave Dean an update. Kelly and Jamie had emailed him again during the night about coming to Spirit Lake. They wanted to paper the town with anti-hate crime posters, maybe even organize a gay rights march down Maine Street.

"Tell 'em not to forget their lawnmowers," Dean said.

"Are you losing it? Those girls need to stay the hell away from here."

"Absolutely. Just thinking about their hairy legs makes me cry."

Sam gave him a disgusted look, but was fortunately distracted when the laptop pinged, announcing the arrival of an email.

"Ash already got back to us? Ah. He came up with the same theory as Lee. There _were_ earthquakes before every disappearance."

"Oh, really? Despite the overwhelming evidence of the menu?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "It doesn't explain the disappearing bodies."

"Could be animals."

Sam's cell rang. He answered it, mouthed _It's Bobby_ at Dean. He mostly listened, then hung up.

"Bobby thinks we can't kill her."

"What do you mean, can't?"

"As in there is nothing we're capable of that could hurt her, moron."

"That can't be right," Dean said. But Bobby hadn't been wrong so far.

"He said it would be like trying to take out Apollo."

She was an actual _god_? Shit! Not that he cared. All it meant was that it was going to be harder.

"So what the hell's next?" Dean said.

Sam thought for a moment. "We need more local lore. Someone has to know something that will help."

"Start with Mrs. Nolan?" Dean suggested.

Sam laughed. "Oh, yeah. I bet she loves this stuff."

Dean changed into a long-sleeved button-down shirt, jeans without holes, and his leather jacket. He was looking forward to seeing the old girl again. Anyone who could talk Sam to a standstill was cool in his book.

* * *

They arrived at Susan's while she was having lunch. There was no graceful way to get out of her invitation, so they gave in and ate with her, grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup.

"Your gentleman friend was telling us his theory last night," Dean said. "About the people who–"

"It's hooey," Susan said. "Leland's a wonderful man, but he's been going on about it for forty years, ever since his sister's best friend disappeared."

"Lee didn't tell us he had a connection with any of the missing people." Sam gave her the sad eyes.

She melted. "Everyone in town does, Sam. It's a small place. We're all family here."

"Speaking of family, how's Nicole?" Dean said.

"I'm sorry, I should have said. She's out with Lauren's friends today."

"Will there be a memorial for the girls?" Sam asked.

"I heard Brittany's parents started planning something, but Lauren's family hasn't accepted what's happened."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

"It has to be a serial murderer," Susan said. "Like that Zodiac killer in San Francisco."

Dean looked at Sam for help and didn't get any. "You don't think they were attacked by a huge flaming woman down in the mine?"

"You know that story? I can't believe it's still going around. I heard it when I was a little girl."

"But didn't someone in your family see her?"

"No, Nicole's mother's family. But he was a… not very sober. Anyway, if it was true, do you think I would have let Nicole go there with Lauren's friends?"

"They what?" Sam and Dean said in unison.

"Lauren's roommates, Jamie and Kelly. They came by two hours ago, wanted to see the mine. Nicole went with them so they won't get lost."

Sam was already pulling on his jacket.

* * *

"Drive faster, Dean!"

"Quiet, Sammy."

"Kelly and Jamie are a couple. Do you realize what that means?"

"I know, I know." Izzy could go after them. He wasn't convinced she existed yet, but they couldn't take the chance.

He drove past the end of the fire access road, uneven ground scraping the axles, until they saw a tricked-out black Ford Escort with a _Hillary '08_ bumpersticker. They grabbed their bags and ran, guns in their hands.

* * *

Reassuringly, as soon as they were down in the mine, they heard the girls. Laughter? Maybe. Sound carried down here, but it was also distorted.

They were almost at the secondary shaft when they saw flickering light ahead. Dean grunted in relief when they got closer. The girls had lit a fire; he had thought it was something else.

"Sam?"

"Right."

Mimicking Dean, Sam slowed to a walk, making his body language casual. Dean concealed his sawed off shotgun inside his leather jacket. Sam stuffed their dad's .45 down the back of his jeans.

It was time to pour on the charm. They needed to convince the girls to leave the mine without panicking them. Nicole would be a piece of cake, but Jamie and Kelly? The lesbians would be wearing patchouli, Birkenstocks, and T-shirts that said _Everytime you see a rainbow, God is having gay sex_. He was _so_ not their type.

"Sam. Think you can sweet-talk the lesbians out of here?"

"Shut up, dude. They'll hear you."

"Aw, hell, Sammy! I'm wearing my leather jacket." Maybe they'd buy that it was vinyl. "Did you tell them we were kitten cuddlers or what?"

Sam grinned so slyly Dean wished he had holy water. "Or what," Sam said.

A girl's voice called out to them, the exact words lost in echoes.

"Nicole? It's Sam. And Dean. Susan told us you were here."

The three girls were sitting around the fire. Dean turned his flashlight off so his eyes could adjust to the dim light.

Nicole stood and took a step toward them. Dean felt like shit when her face lit up, seeing him. She barely glanced at Sam.

"Dean, thank God you're here! We were getting scared." Nicole held a paper cup full of purple liquid.

"Scared? Sounds like you're having fun," Dean said.

When Sam walked towards the fire, Dean hoped he seemed as harmless as a freakishly tall and super built straight man could look to a couple of lesbians. Apparently Sam wasn't too scary, because the two girls stood up and shook hands with him.

Holy _shit_. The blood left Dean's brain.

The two lesbians were _hot_.

They wore knee-high boots that laced all the way up, skintight black jeans, and black leather jackets. He loved Goth chicks, especially when they had Celtic inspired tattoos, long black hair, and wore too much jewelry. They _had_ to have piercings.

"Dean, this is Jamie and Kelly," Nicole said.

Dean smiled until his face hurt. Jamie was shorter, five five, Kelly was five nine. Other than that, it was hard to tell them apart in the firelight.

"You sure got here fast," Dean said. "Isn't Portland, uh, far?"

"Yeah, four hundred miles. We left at two in the morning, drove all night," Kelly said. "It was awesome. You can go a hundred when no one's around."

It was official. He loved her.

"I guess you know Sam," Nicole said to the girls. "Lauren's boyfriend?"

Jamie looked at Sam, confused. Dean knew the feeling. She was trying to reconcile Puppy Eyes Sam with Smooth Liar Sam.

Sam blushed. God, but the boy was good. "Lauren wanted people in Spirit Lake to think we were going out, Nicole, but really–"

"What?" Nicole said, looking worried.

"Lauren's a lesbian," Kelly blurted. "_We're_ lesbians."

"Me, too. Totally," Dean said, distracted by a glimpse of her tongue stud.

Nicole looked at him in surprise. Okay, maybe it hadn't made a hell of a lot of sense.

"What I'm trying to say is–" Dean jumped when Sam's warm hand landed on the back of his neck.

"I'm sorry, Nicole," Sam said. "Dean and I, we're not really brothers."

What.The.Hell?

Oh, fuck. So _that_ was what Sam had said to get them to dump their hopes and fears over the Internet. He just wished Nicole hadn't ended up with the short straw in Sammy's game of smoke and mirrors.

"Oh, I already knew that," Nicole said. She quickly turned away and topped off her cup from a Thermos.

Guilt. The pause that refreshes. Dean felt even shittier when Nicole forced a smile and filled cups for them.

Sam sat down at the fire, which somehow eased the tension. Jamie and Kelly sat down with him.

Dean started moving towards Nicole, until Sam gave him the big eyes. Dean gave up and sat next to him. They'd have one drink, then get the girls out.

Sam took a large swallow of the purple stuff. "Wow. This is interesting."

Oh, shit. MD 20/20? The smell was right.

"It's vodka and Raspberry Crystal Light. You just stir it in, without water or anything," Nicole said.

"That's… amazing," Sam said. "Drink up, Dean."

Why was Sammy trying to kill him all of the sudden? Was Sam mad because he had hit on the lesbians? Sam got pissed off at the weirdest things.

Dean held his breath and drank. Jesus Christ. Cough syrup from hell.

Jamie giggled, then slumped sideways until her head rested in Kelly's lap. It looked like a great place to be.

Sam punched his shoulder, not gently. Dean tore his gaze away from the lesbian lapfest.

"Well, honey," Dean said, playfully punching Sam back. "I've got to tinkle."

Kelly laughed. "Go right ahead. We've been going over there." She pointed at the entrance to the secondary shaft.

"Uh, can't," Dean said. "Shy bladder."

"He needs a real bathroom," Sam said. "Hey, want to come with us? We can all go back to the motel. Pick up some beer."

Nicole and Kelly looked at each other.

"Okay, sure," Kelly said. "My ass is frozen, anyway. Come on, Jamie. Jamie?"

Jamie was totally out of it. They all chuckled.

"Guess this punch can sneak up on a person," Dean said. _And club them over the head._

He was about to make another witty remark when Sam gripped his forearm hard enough to bruise. Then he got it. He and Sam lifted Jamie and laid her out.

_She's still breathing_, Sam mouthed at him.

Dean switched on a flashlight to check her eyes, but he didn't bother, once he saw her face. Her skin was flushed a strangely even pink. He knew what it meant. Carbon monoxide. It had gotten Jamie first because she was the smallest.

Dad had warned him about it, after a hunter had died alone in a cabin. Windows sealed tight, faulty wood stove.

He remembered something else. Carbon monoxide poisoning was cumulative, and he and Sam had been down in the mine for hours two days earlier.

_Headaches. Feeling tired, sick._ Christ! Lee was right. It was toxic gas killing folks.

"We have to get out of here, now," Dean said.

When Sam picked Jamie up in a fireman's carry, making it look easy, Dean felt a pang in his chest. Pride, or something.

"What's wrong with her?" Kelly was panicking, damn it.

"She'll be okay," Dean said. "But we have to get her to a hospital."

They'd made it fifty feet when the earthquake hit.

Dean's first thought was, _Wow, bad timing_. Then he yelled _Shit!_ After that, he was all out of ideas, so he lost it.

"Dean!" Sam yelled his loudest, which was fucking loud. It calmed Dean down.

The earthquake ended with disorienting suddenness.

Sam put Jamie down on the ground, and looked with wide eyes over Dean's shoulder. Dean turned around and saw an ugly red light glowing in the secondary shaft.

He looked at Sam; they came to the same decision.

"Kelly. Nicole. Can you carry Jamie out?" Dean used their Dad's voice.

It worked. The girls held hands, making a seat.

He picked Jamie up and positioned her on their arms. "If you get tired, don't do anything fancy. Drag her if you have to. Just don't stop."

"What is that?" Nicole said in a hushed voice, looking at the red light.

"Lava," Sam said. "There's been an eruption. You have a cell phone?"

"It doesn't work down here," Nicole said.

"Call the fire department as soon as you can, have them meet you," Sam said. "Jamie needs oxygen. Go!"

When the girls were twenty yards away, Sam pulled out the .45. "So what's our plan?"

"We don't have a plan, remember? We'll slow her down until the girls get away."

"Think we have time to get past her, lead her back into the mine?" Sam racked a silver bullet into the chamber, thumbed off the safety.

"You in a hurry to be a crispy critter? No way. Besides, she'd be between us and the girls." Dean pulled out the shotgun, felt in his jacket pockets for shells. Yep, he had the cocktail. Maybe it would do something.

"She's–" Sam broke off, and pointed the .45 with shaking arms.

Dean had the shotgun up and aimed before he could think about what he was looking at. Then he nearly dropped it.

She was fucking huge. Head touching the twelve-foot ceiling. On fire, made out of fire. Definitely female; a quick impression of tits and long flaming hair. He didn't get a good look. Her flames were red, intense as a dying sun. He had to turn away.

Each step she took shook the ground. She was coming their way, but seemed unaware of them, as if they were insignificant ants. Which was fair.

The ceiling above her rained liquid rock. Her breath scorched their lungs. He could _hear_ her now, a hissing sound that made his legs numb with cold.

She didn't have to be after them to kill them. All she had to do was get close.

"Come _on_, you balrog bitch." Dean lifted the shotgun again.

Sam grabbed his arm. "Dean! You can't fight her!"

"Then I'll do a fair imitation of it."

In answer, Sam body-slammed him into a deep crevice in the wall. Dean struggled, but his feet were twisted up with Sam's.

"Dean! No!" Sam grabbed his shoulders, looking furious.

What the hell was wrong with him? This was their _job_. "Sam, we have to slow her down. The girls can't outrun her."

Sam went all grabby hands on him. Must have tripped or something. "You told me it wasn't worth dying for. Not worth it, Dean!"

"Get off me!"

"Sorry, man. I'm sorry."

"Fine, you're sorry. Let's go," Dean said.

He struggled uselessly, until an armful of heavy Sam made him realize his brother was passing out, going the way of Jamie. Knowing it wouldn't help, he slapped Sam's face. Sam looked at him groggily.

"Damn it, Sam!" Izzy was about to go by them, and then there would be no chance of stopping her.

He wasn't going to panic. He'd leave Sam in this crack… No, he couldn't. If Izzy toasted him, no one would find Sam. He had to face her with Sam, no matter what. He wrapped his arms around Sam's chest, dragging him.

But it was too late. She was past them. They'd failed. The girls... Wait. She was– she was _coming back_?

In spite of the horror of her gunning for them, Dean almost laughed, realizing what it meant. "Can you believe it? Even Izzy thinks we're fags!"

Sam couldn't hear him.

He dragged Sam out fast before Izzy trapped them in the narrow space, and cooked them like buns in an oven.

Out in the shaft, he wrestled with Sam's dead weight, finally letting him sink to the ground, then he stood over Sam with the shotgun.

He sensed Izzy's approach through the roar of her red flames and the increasing heat. He didn't look directly at her; something in his gut warned him not to.

When she was fifteen feet away, he could smell his clothes scorching. Dizziness hit him. Lee had been half right; people _had_ been killed by toxic gas, but Izzy was the source. There was nothing natural about it.

_You can't just stand here, Dean!_ She was between them and the exit. Sam would die if he didn't get them out.

"Flame _off_, bitch!" He glanced at her just long enough to aim the shotgun, fired. The bullets melted before they reached her.

He looked up at her face, and turned to stone.

Not literally. But he couldn't move. He didn't _want_ to move. He only wanted to look at her, because she was the most amazing thing he had ever seen. Pure destruction.

She was talking to him. The language was one he had never heard, full of clicks and whistles. He understood her anyway.

_Oblivion._

It sounded good, like what he'd been dreaming of. Sleeping forever beneath a mountain, beneath a lake, Sam at his side.

He looked at her straight on, at her red fire and her swirling hair and her somehow-smile, although she didn't have what he could call a mouth. God he was tired—just wanted to lie down next to Sam, wait for it to be over. He went down on one knee before realizing it.

She took it as a yes, and then everything changed. She was laughing at him. Not cruelly, but cynically.

Her judgment blended with the roar of her accusing flames. _Faithless._

What the fuck? Dean got pissed. She didn't know _shit_. He struggled back on his feet.

"Look. I'm sorry about what happened to you—your dad lying, saying your boyfriend was dead when he wasn't. Our dad was kind of fucked up, too. But I'm not faithless, because I'm not leaving him. Not ever."

She flared hotter and brighter. So much for his eyebrows.

"Yeah, believe it. And, when I die, I'll go out like this, standing right here, between him and whatever fucked up shit is after him. You got that?"

She asked him a question, clicking and whistling. He had to answer.

"Yes, ma'am," Dean said. "That's right. I did get killed, but I came back to him. Uh, twice. Cause I–" _freaking love him_.

A blast of clean wind forced him to close his burning eyes. He staggered, almost falling on Sam. When he opened his eyes, Izzy was gone.

Not gone. Different. About four ten, black hair, latte-colored skin. Beautiful. She smiled at him.

"Fuck me sideways." Dean passed out a little.

* * *

"Wake up, Dean, please!"

How the hell was Sammy leaning over him? "Dude, you're the one who's unconscious."

Sam hauled him up.

Wind still howled down the mine shaft. Dean took in a lungful, feeling the oxygen rushing through his blood.

"Did the girls get out okay?" Sam asked.

Shit. Dean could tell Sam had been crying while waiting for him to come out of it.

"Yeah," Dean said. "I think they did."

Dean had been wondering if he could still carry Sam; when Sam passed out before they reached the entrance, it turned out he could.

There was an ambulance waiting next to the Impala. Dean convinced an EMT to bring the car along when the ambulance took them to a medical care center in Rathdrum, ten miles away.

The girls were already there. Safe.

* * *

"How's Jamie, Dean?"

"She says she's never drinking again."

Sam smiled. "What happened to your eyebrows?"

"I was going for the Wormtongue look."

Dean had been pronounced healthy, so he was free to wander around the clinic and bother Sammy, still in bed.

"It looks weird," Sam said.

"They'll grow back. Not so sure about you. You got gassed real good. Probably permanently lowered your sperm count." Dean smiled, hoping Sam would smile back. Or punch him. Something.

"I'm never having kids," Sam said.

He said it so fiercely, Dean let it go.

The nurses had told Dean he could leave the clinic, but that wasn't going to happen. He found an empty bed, dragged the mattress into Sammy's room, and slept on the floor.

In the morning, he blamed the gas for his nightmare: Ava up on the ceiling above him, blood dripping from her abdomen. The demon always started there. Like he was spaying a cat.

* * *

The clinic released Sam in the morning, but it was too soon to leave town. Sam needed more bed rest. They spent a lazy day at the motel, eating pizza and watching pay-per-view movies.

Nicole called Dean's cell in the afternoon, and told him Jamie and Kelly were on their way back to Portland.

"Um, Dean?" Nicole said.

"Yeah?"

"Sam seems like a really nice person."

Dean winced. "Yeah, he's a hell of a guy."

He called Bobby and gave him an abbreviated version of events, then called Ellen and gave her a longer one.

At ten that night, Sam was in bed, lying on his back, forearm resting on forehead. He wasn't sleeping yet. Not good.

"We need something easy next, like vampires or werewolves," Dean said. "Something with _rules_."

"If you're getting nostalgic about vampires, then we're worse off than I thought."

Dean smiled, but it wouldn't stay on his face. "I hate unfinished business, Sammy. No way to call what happened a win."

"We saved the girls," Sam said.

"Jamie and Kelly, yeah. But not Lauren and Brittany. Or anyone else who might go down there."

"I don't know about that. She feels… she's gone, Dean."

"Gone? Izzy?"

"Yeah. What did you do to her?"

"Nothing." _Told her the truth._ "She taught me about oblivion, though. It turns out it sucks."

Sam's news about Izzy jolted him. Now he couldn't stop thinking about the way she had smiled at him. Or the suspicion that, if he had known of a way to kill her, he wouldn't have done it.

"You going to bed or what?" Sam sounded about twelve years old.

Dean undressed down to T-shirt and briefs and lay on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. He picked up the remote off the table between his bed and Sammy's.

"Might watch a movie." Dean flipped through channels.

At least Sam looked sleepy, finally. He was under the blankets, his eyes closed, breathing slow and deep.

Dean was twenty minutes into _Saw II_ when he realized his brother was faking it.

"You want me to turn the TV off, Sam?"

"That's okay. Dean?"

Dean tensed. Sam's voice was hard, brittle. Something bad was coming.

"Jess was pregnant," Sam said.

Dean felt the revelation in his gut. He knew he couldn't speak without his voice going shaky.

Mom had been pregnant, too, just three months gone. He and Dad had never told Sam that. Sammy wasn't ever going to know.

"Jess wasn't the one. The demon has someone else picked out for me," Sam said.

"Sam. Stop it."

Dean felt like crying. He couldn't stand to think about all the times Sam must have almost told him.

"He killed Ava's fiancé. Think about it, Dean."

"Whatever the hell you're talking about, it's not going to happen, dude. I promise."

"You promise?" Sam laughed in a way Dean never wanted to hear again. Self-mocking, despairing: a bunch of uncool shit. "Christ, Dean. I think… I need a goddamn hug or something."

"Huh?" Dean hadn't seen that coming.

"A hug. Remember those?"

"_Girls_ hug," Dean said.

"You hugged Dad. All the time."

Dean grabbed the nearest thing to throw, which was the remote, and took aim.

But Sam wasn't even looking at him, instead gazing inward at a place Dean wasn't supposed to know about.

_Don't go there, Sammy._

Dean stood up, took a step towards Sam's bed, wondered if he could actually do it. Then Sam looked at him, and Dean could _see_ it happening, Sammy returning. Sammy always came back to him.

Yeah, he could do it.

It was awkward, sitting on the edge of the bed, hugging Sam when he was lying down. Dean unrolled, and Sam rolled, until it was a real hug, not just hands on shoulders.

When their chests pressed against each other, Dean knew why he'd avoided it. It fucking hurt. Hurt to feel Sam's body, think about how easy it was to break it. His arms tightened, because _fuck_.

He had a fistful of Sammy's hair and was just starting to feel less crazy when Sam laughed, low and deep, right on his neck.

"I can't believe you fell for that," Sam said. "You're a stealth wimp, man."

It was total _bull_. Sam was holding on to him just as hard, the devious bastard.

Dean let go so he could beat Sam to death with the remote. Then he saw Sammy's face.

Smiling, eyes wet, looking totally grateful.

Dean switched off the TV, turned off the lights, and got in bed.

* * *

It usually felt good to get back on the road. It did today, even after this case, which had been a mess from beginning to end.

They were heading to Spokane first. They hadn't discussed it—hadn't needed to—but they wanted to find their own gig next, not something Ellen handed to them.

Sam was quiet during the journey. When Dean asked him to find some music on the radio, Sam dutifully navigated through empty static until he found a tolerable oldies station. Brown-eyed Girl, stuff like that. Then Sam returned to staring out the window.

"We never figured out what happened to the miners," Dean said.

"We can be reasonably sure Iztaccíhuatl had something to do with it." Sam sounded distant.

Dean tried again. "Hey, I just thought of something. Maybe Lauren and Brittany never went into the mine. Maybe they knew, if they disappeared, that Izzy would get blamed. And they could go somewhere and live happily ever after." The second he finished, Dean almost blushed. _Stealth wimp._

Sam didn't even smile. "Maybe."

Ouch. Sam's gloomy mood had to be related to the night before. It drove Dean crazy, because he couldn't figure out how, exactly.

Right now, he'd settle for any distraction.

"So what did happen to the Neanderthals, Sam?"

Sam sat up straight and looked at him. Better.

"Nothing happened to them, Dean. They were already dying out when _Homo sapiens_ showed up."

Dean knew total bullshit when he heard it. He considered the facts. Just like Sammy had taught him.

Fact: After living around _Homo sapiens_ for tens of thousands of years, the Neanderthals had suddenly died out, the same time humans made a leap forward: art, the first houses, all kinds of weapons.

Dean was damn sure the Neanderthals hadn't gone quietly.

Fact: the demon had killed Andy's adoptive mom by mistake before getting the real one.

Fact: Dad had been wrong. Gordon Walker, too.

Because the demon was just along for the ride, not driving the car—trying to control the situation, sure, but he hadn't created it; he feared it. Why kill the mothers, unless he was trying to limit the number of Sammys and Andys born into the world?

Dean knew why. The facts pointed in one direction. Because Sam was like _Homo sapiens_ had been once, with their big-ass brains.

_My hopeful monster._

The Neanderthals this time around? Dean had that figured out, too. Gordon. Maybe Jo, damn it. Maybe just about everybody. But it was all right, because Dean was special, too. Oh, hell, yeah.

He was a one-man ice age. He was mass extinction with a gun in each hand.

Dean had the important thing nailed. When the Neanderthals came for his hopeful monster, he'd take them the fuck down.

_That_ was his goddamned destiny.

The oldies radio station faded out. He was about to ask Sam to put in a tape when the dreamy sound of an electronic keyboard started up.

Cheap Trick. They were close enough to Spokane to pick up a decent station.

_Another night slowly closes in,  
And I feel so lonely.  
Touching heat freezing on my skin,  
I pretend you still hold me._

"Cool! I love this song," Dean said.

He reached for the volume knob and grabbed Sam's knee instead.

"Dude, move your legs," Dean said. "Damn things are long enough to wrap around twice."

Sam gave him a strange look—strange, but growing more familiar—slid his knees out of the way, and turned up the volume.

_Watching shadows move across the wall,  
I feel so frightened.  
I wanna run to you, I wanna call,  
But I've been hit by lightning.  
Just can't stand up for falling apart.  
Can't see through this veil across my heart, over you.  
You'll always be the one.  
You were the first, you'll be the last._

Wherever you go, I'll be with you.  
Whatever you want, I'll give it to you.  
Whenever you need someone to lay your heart and head upon.  
Remember: after the fire, after all the rain,  
I will be the flame.  
I will be the flame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morgandawn threw me a bunny about Dean's destiny in November, 2006. We were hopped up on goofballs at the time, so she can credibly claim temporary amnesia. Her bunny got mixed up with an idea from Stephen Jay Gould; this story is the offspring. Kelleigh gave me early feedback and prevented several embarrassing mistakes. I also blame this on Nilla, who pimps _Supernatural_ relentlessly, using her big puppy eyes like Sam. Evil!
> 
> Random bits:  
> My goal was to write the equivalent of a typical episode, complete with song at the end.  
> Spirit Lake is a real town, and not much like the one in this story. I inserted bits of Coeur d'Alene and Caldwell.  
> Everything I know about volcanic goddesses comes from _The Bobbsey Twins In Volcano Land_ and _Richard Halliburton's Complete Book of Marvels_.  
> I found the legend about Spirit Lake at a golf course web site, not on a bar menu.  
> Learned the vodka and Raspberry Crystal Light punch recipe while eavesdropping on two girls in Target.


End file.
